


Untitled

by Fetishes



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: ? - Freeform, M/M, Public Sex, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:00:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25287946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fetishes/pseuds/Fetishes
Summary: It's the end of the world.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> If I title this "untitled," would that make it titled?  
> Untitled ≠ unfinished.

Of all the times to be quiet, England had to wonder why America chose now. They sat crosswise yet with their fingers entwined, the mall was empty so England found no reason to be upset, as the world around them collapsed.

The ground would rumble and yet the debris always seemed to avoid them. They wouldn't have minded had some fallen on them. "All that matters is you," America told him before his impromptu vow of silence. America played with the ring stretched over England's right finger. If they couldn't get married, why not do it and say they didn't? It was a formality and yet it was theirs. 

The earth shook again, making England fumble to grab a hold of America's wrist. That was when he spoke again, "I've got you, honey," he assured softly, swiping his thumb across England's pallid skin in gentle circles. 

The mall's speakers were hardly working, sometimes the volume would rise and then cut, only to fade back in softly. Whatever it was, was something England had never heard before. However, it seemed that America enjoyed it, as his head was steadily bobbing along and his foot was kicking gleefully underneath the table. 

America leaned across the table, planting his lips on the cusp of England's hairline. England couldn't muster a reason to feel indignant as America's lips trailed down, first pressing softly against the corner of his mouth before begging for entry as he pushed the broken table to the side with merely a weak kick. 

As England sat in the chair, America kneeled down, one hand painting kindly shapes into England's and and the other doing the same to England's flushed, freckled cheek. He rubbed just beneath England's reddened eye, just above a scar he had gotten centuries ago that laid just beneath his wrist, he kissed England's lips until they were swollen and red.

Because it didn't matter to them; it didn't matter that they were in a public mall because everyone that had occupied it only an hour ago was gone; it didn't matter that they were told they couldn't marry because they had done it anyway, because they were in love; and it certainly didn't matter the America's hand started trailing up England's arm to instead jump to his shirt and begin pushing it up, because they knew there wouldn't be another chance to be like this together after this.

America trailed kisses up England's stomach and to his chest, he was off his knees then. He sucked red marks into England's neck and jaw because he knew no one would see them. He pulled England's pants off with no protest from him because they knew no one would see them. No one was around. They were alone.

England, despite telling himself he wouldn't, clung to America and cried. Even as America was situated inside him, his eyes bled with every memory he made. He couldn't remember his birth nor could he remember his mother. He wasn't sure he had one. He remembers being taken and placed into a life he felt bittersweet towards. It was long and painful but he wouldn't trade it for the world. Not that there was a chance I could, he thought bitterly. The world is ending and God didn't have the mind to ask. 

There were times he resented God. God, who forced him into an impossibly long life; God, who gave him everything; and God, who took it all away with a single gunshot. England knew America was crying as well, as the arms across his back became tight and the gentle gyrating of their hips had stopped. England wondered what America was crying for. In the back of his mind, he hoped America was crying for him. 

He trailed his hand up to the nape of America's neck and caressed it gently. America leaned back, neither were ashamed. They pressed their foreheads together, America let out a noise only a dying man could make. He is dying, England knew. The world is falling, there's about to be nothing left. America began to move again, striking spots and nerves within England that shot pleasure up his spine. 

England, who was once vocal and inflamed during these intimate moments, did not make a sound other than a shaky sob. America did the same, and yet he moved with the same passion he would on any other occasion. They were locked tightly together, both their eyes were shut as tight as could be, they both imagined themselves somewhere else. Somewhere where the world wasn't falling apart, somewhere where they could be together freely, somewhere where they had time to be together.

They wanted to talk and to laugh and raise a family. The ground shook, harder than it had done previously. Scaffolding fell next to them, they didn't mind. Windows shattered and tile was upheaved. They played no mind to it. 

When they had finished, they didn't talk, no matter how desperately they wanted to. They knew their voices would shake too much and they would only cry harder, so instead they listened to the broken stereo. Even then, the music cut out quickly. England looked out the window to his side, one that was shattered, the sun was setting. Lampposts had fallen, roads were split, sides of buildings had crumbled to the ground. 

The sky was beautiful, the sun looked so big. The clouds seemed like candy floss and the stars just began peaking through. 

"I love you, Arthur, you're the only one for me," America confessed, tapering off quickly with a breathy sob as he dug his nose into the crook of England's neck. England turned away from the sight to press his nose into America's hair.

"Oh, Alfred," he cried, closing his eyes. "And I love you, more than I could ever say."


	2. Two

Of all the times to be quiet, England had to wonder why America chose now. They watched hand in hand as the world lit up around them. Lights, without the consent from their worker, flickered to life. Where they stood, it was only two in the morning. 

The sky, once black yet littered with stars, was illuminated by blinding pinks, blues, and yellows. America clinked his ring against England's, both rested on their right hand. They had never been allowed a wedding. They supposed it didn't quite matter.

The mall was littered with people. Those who, despite the early hour, felt as though they needed to meet each other. Children played in the ball pit, elated that they could be up so early, parents couldn't even complain. England didn't either.

The speaker blasted music, it didn't matter what was playing. Songs from the eighties, the early seventies, the late fifties, the early two thousands. People danced and hugged and cried. 

England didn't feel a shadow of melancholy. America held him tight from behind, a reassurance. The world was ending and England knew he wouldn't rather be somewhere else.

Occasionally the ground would shake, the tremor being enough to knock down those who weren't sitting. They would laugh, and then pick themselves back up. England watched as a young couple danced with their hands locked, the man saying something about never getting to teach her. 

America gently wrapped his hand around England's waist, coaxing him into a stand that was juxtaposed to their previous position, one where England sat lax in his husband's lap. The ground shook again, but America caught him and smiled at the sounds of those less fortunate tumbling to the ground with a laugh. 

Once he stood, he brought England's hand up to a closed position. The music was hardly something to waltz to, a blaring pop song that must've been written in the last decade. Though, England was charmed. America guided him through the motions almost expertly.

"I've learned from the best," he said, despite not having a prompt. England leaned forward, resting his head on America's chest. They were doing a simple box step, not caring to be showy. England closed his eyes, feeling a gentle kiss being pressed against his hair. 

Another tremor coursed through the ground, making England's knees buckle. Though, thankfully America was quick to react and pulled England forward, forcing them both to fall to the ground. 

Unanimously, the mall broke into laughter, England and America joining in. England's head returned to America's chest, neither bothering to lift themselves up. Their fingers intertwined once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is a lot shorter. I didn't feel like anything else had to happen, so nothing else did. I hoped you enjoyed, think of this as an alternative to the previous chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> I finished this at 4:30 am.  
> I've been stuck recently. The world is ending, don't try and convince me otherwise. This is the first thing I've finished in a while in spite of my impressive repertoire of unfinished stories. I feel like I needed this. I'd like to think they didn't die, but were reborn somewhere else. That's why I didn't mark it as major character death. Apologies if you were looking for some good old fluff and smut, but I cried while writing this.


End file.
